


a two nights' worth of hope and grief

by behzaintfunny



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Euro 2016, Gen, Poetry, Poland NT, Portugal NT - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-05
Updated: 2018-04-05
Packaged: 2019-04-18 22:56:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14223612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/behzaintfunny/pseuds/behzaintfunny
Summary: Read as young Kellin gets way too emotionally involved into the Polish national team's Euro 2016 journey.





	1. the unsung heroes

**Author's Note:**

> This needs context. And a lot of it.  
> This was originally written on June 29th and 30th 2016, during the Euros, in Denmark, both poems came to life at around midnight. It was a crucial part of my life as far as getting into football goes. Mind you, I was young. Very young, very hopeful and very sad. My writing was, safe to say, blossoming. It's not best and I advise you not to read into the grammar sense of it. From any reasonable person's POV, me involved, these aren't good poems in a sense that they aren't entirely correct. Just read into all those emotions I'm feeling in incredibly huge waves as my beloved national team faces Portugal and is then defeated during penalties. Try walking in my shoes and only then will you get the best experience out of this.  
> I don't expect many people to read this. This is purely archival. If you are though, thank you.

dear reader,  
watch the event, please.  
look at what you see --  
is it not all red and white?

it always is.  
i guess we really love this.

my mind can't help  
but think of this event  
as of something  
at least ten times bigger.

it's a huntdown,  
a fight between titans,  
a good show,  
at last.

one would think about the team  
when thinking of titans --  
i guess my mind decided to follow a different path.

the titans are representing  
thousands, no,  
hundreds of thousands  
of hearts, sharing a rythm and beating as one.

the players are a material form of all that --  
supposed to put on a good show,  
smile for the camera  
and leave.

and sure,  
we do love them for this!

after all that,  
a heart is a synonym of love,  
we, as people, are a strong heart  
and something keeps us away from being sick.

you ponder what?  
what has got the power to keep us all sane and well?  
i guess it's just the players;  
all running,  
healthy  
and determined to win.

this symbiosis was created long ago  
(shorter than you might think.  
we were never one to be kept alone and happy.)  
and is not going to die out.  
we, as one,  
will win.

you should fear us,  
you great minds  
of foreign lands  
and beautiful sights --  
we're hardworking  
and are never  
going to surrender.

we fought our way  
through this hell --  
and you did not.  
we're the lions in this one,  
and you're simply a bunch of snakes;

bathing in pride  
dressing in money  
crying in coins.

we do not care about the chances  
because no hero ever did.


	2. a day (night) to remember

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Probably the most iconic thing I've ever written. It just reeks of salt. Enjoy.

i've told you

to go, watch, look.

if you did --

bravo.

to all of you ignoring my silent prayer --

you have missed on a beautiful play.

 

i've got a fresh wound in me

and this time it doesn't mean i'm weak

hell, i'm covering it with tears,

spreading them like it's medicine.

 

you know, when a snake bites your arm

you're left off-guard the whole time

just up until it's bitten you

like a cannibal treats its victims.

it doesn't care that you're humane;

in its eyes you're a bunch of weaknesses;

 

_but how does a weakness not lose against a force?_

 

that is right.

dear snakes,

i think you've harmed your eyes.

if you have seen things properly

you would've known

that _these people are all incapable of getting bitten_.

 

they tried their hardest to break our legs

bones, spines, bruise us.

and what for?

 

what defines us is called team spirit

the wisest have said that

and i'm not going to argue

and neither are you.

 

_because since when_ _does a hunter_

_protect a shelter?_

_since when does a bystander_

_succeed on a hunt?_

_since when is the protector the one_

_who makes us the proudest?_

 

many people are crying,

brave hearts in sorrow --

i call to you, my brothers,

for we are not losers in this one.

 

 _we never were_.

 

dear mister bystander

who has become a hunter,

i know you're the saddest one --

it was so clear in your eyes --

we do not blame you for this one mistake.

 _we would've been long gone if not for your abilities_.

 

a king dressed in two colors,

that are red and white,

too, feels sorrow.

even though he is long dead

he was with us until the end.

 

dear mister protector,

i'm looking up to you.

you've got beaten the hardest --

not physically

but, thrice as hard, mentally, --

you may think i don't think of you

as of a talented mind and all just because i call you names

instead of your own --

you have been the hero of these few weeks of ours.

 

now, i'd like to assign and also define

that my hatred and my pride

both matter.

i'm not shouting out to all of you

in this work of mine,

but inside there is at least a thousand of voices

yelling your names, crying in pride.

 

lastly, surely importantly;

dear master snake,

i hope the coins in your bath get stuck to your body

leaving marks (these invisible ones)

_and there is no man for you to clean the mess you've made._

 

money gets it all

and snakes get the money this time

...i guess the richest are in control at all times.

 

i'm leaving this land of excitement and happiness

where i found my real me and smiled my hardest

i'm throwing away my device and not looking back;

because all i want now is to preach

that _this land i come from is a true home to warriors_

and we fought until the end

all of our powers were spent and now we'd like to rest.

 

keep in mind the fact that this land of two colors

is not weak and is made of true steel.

 

_our hero did not become a letdown_

because he saved us from at least two murders

and we will always thank him

cry, when thinking about him

but also sigh deeply,

knowing this hero represents all of us.

we can all be this guy

with a surname that's far too complicated,

we can all write long poems with no rhymes and bad grammar

and then, _we can all say that we're proud of this land_

 

_**we will always be.** _


End file.
